


System Failure

by tyuoi



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hackers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-18 03:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11865801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyuoi/pseuds/tyuoi
Summary: Lance simply wants to get through his last year of highschool while maintaining his family restaurant. Not deal with his new wifi-stealing rival, who claims to be a hacktivist, though Lance is not exactly sure what that entitles.Hacker!AU





	1. LogIn.exe

**Author's Note:**

> idk anything about hacking dont judge me

The sun is beating down on the earth with such an intensity that the air is stifling. Lance glances up at the molten globe, one hand shielding his eyes, the other secured around two large, and way too overfilled if he might add, garbage bags. His mother had howled about the trash overflow and the possibility of vermin; she swore that if her restaurant got blacklisted by health inspection she would personally haunt all her children beyond the grave. So Lance had decided to take one for the team and handle the situation, even though it was certainly not his turn to do so.

His gaze snaps away from the sun and he can practically hear his grandmother chastising him for looking at it for too long, and throws the trash in the large dumpster. The smell is rancid and he’s hoping that that movement he had seen in his peripheral was not a rat. But it’s Manhattan, city of dreams, vermin and the perpetual smell of piss.

Shaking his head, he makes his way back into the small Cuban restaurant and goes back to his actual job of busting tables. He's wiping his last table when the bell chimes signalling the arrival of a new customer. He’s not usually the one to welcome customers, that’s his sister’s job, but he’s interested enough to look up. The person that walks is a scruffy and disgruntled looking teenager, perhaps Lance’s age if not a few years older. He looks like a typical customer: miserable and slightly suspicious due to the nature of his dark clothes. In fact, the only color he’s sporting is a dull red jacket tied around his waist.

Lance watches as his sister escorts the boy to a seat in the corner of the restaurant, far from the rest of the customers, something Lance could bet the boy had requested himself. Throwing his dishrag onto his shoulder, he decides to wait on the boy considering that the twins, the actual waiters, had conveniently vanished during rush hour.

The boy’s heavy gaze flickers up when he notices Lance walking to his table, and Lance almost stumbles under the two intimidating dark eyes. The boy’s equally dark hair was plastered to his forehead and neck—and oh dear god is that a mullet? Lance suppresses the urge to comment on the outdated hairstyle.

“Hi, I’m Lance. I’ll be your temporary server,” he says instead. “Would you like anything else to drink besides water?”

The boy tucks a piece of hair behind his ear as he listens to Lance speak. Lance finds it peculiar that the boy is wearing fingerless leather gloves, but he disregards the thought, chopping it up to the boy perhaps having a motorbike.

“No,” he says evenly. “Water is fine, thank you.”

Lance nods politely and watches as the boy promptly begins to pull a clunky sleek computer out of his bag and set it up on the table. He certainly has never seen a customer do this, but he assumes that this guy might just be a busy college student.

“I’m not really hungry so I’m not ordering any entrees or anything,” the boy states offhandedly. Lance glances at the boy’s slim figure, bordering bony and quirks his brow in habit. The guy doesn’t notice, too busy logging into his computer to read Lance’s expressions.

“Can I just have chips or something?”

Lance blinks in confusion for a few seconds before repeating slowly, “Chips?”

The customer looks at him like he’s grown two heads. “Yes, chips.”

Lance is slinking away when the boy calls out to him. “Oh, do you have wifi per chance?”

“Wifi?” Lance repeats and he’s honestly beginning to feel like a parrot.

The boy nods slowly in an almost condescending manner and if he wasn't a customer Lance wouldn't hesitate to point it out.

Lance smiles awkwardly. “Uh, I guess. But it’s not really public so…”

The boy looks at him expectantly and Lance isn't sure why he feels the need to please him.

“You know what?” Lance sighs and waves offhandedly. “I’ll just log in for you. No biggie.”

The boy nods and tilts his computer towards Lance’s direction, and he’s certain that's the closest he’ll get to gratitude with this guy. Lance hunches slightly and finds his wifi name quickly.

“LANcelotto?” The boy barks in a judgmental tone.

Lance’s brows knit. Why’d he have to say it like that? “My name’s Lance,” he reminds him.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see the boy trying not to smile at the pun. Something about that feels satisfactory for Lance.

He types in the password and hands the computer back to the guy. The boy mumbles a short thanks and just that quickly his attention has been averted. Lance decides to get the guy his chips, and picks up only the ‘mild’ sauce and guac. He had learned his lesson; the last time he served a table he forgot to mention to the customers that the green sauce was spicy, assuming it was common knowledge. Apparently it wasn't and his mother had not been pleased to deal with an angry customer.

When he enters the kitchen one of the twins, Juan-Diego, is sitting on a stool playing on Lance’s old gameboy. Lance had gifted it to the boy a few weeks prior when he had found it while going through some old boxes. In moments like these, he regrets it. He kicks the boy’s foot to get his attention.

“Hey, get back to work,” Lance chastises. “Where’s your sister?”

Juan-Diego reluctantly puts the gameboy away. “Which one?”

Lance glares at him lightly. “Yara? Looks exactly like you…”

Juan-Diego shrugs. “I dunno. Thought she was with you or mom.”

Lance sighs and begins to make his way out of the kitchen. “Just find her and get back to work, kiddo.”

When he reaches the table, he sets the chip basket down and considers leaving without another word before he decides against it.

“What’s your name by the way, wifi stealer?”

The boy flinches gently at Lance’s voice as if he hadn't been expecting to be spoken to and it takes him a few moments to reply. “It’s not stealing if you gave it to me willingly.”

Lance’s eye twitches and reminds himself calmly that he is not allowed to strangle customers.

The boy’s lips curve into a small smirk at Lance’s reaction. “It’s not important.”

Lance gives up and goes back to busting tables, glad to see that Juan-Diego had found his sister and now the twins are serving people. Every once in awhile he glances over at the boy’s table to see him typing exceptionally quick. Lance is sure that the guy has noticed his looks by now, but the wifi-stealing boy ignores him him for the most part. The boy’s eyes suddenly narrow down and scan the computer screen back and forth, racing around and most definitely rounding in concentration. He buckles down into a serious composure. Was he even blinking at all now? Lance has the incredible urge to crane his neck and look over.

When it's an hour before closing, and most of the restaurant has cleared out, Lance finds the boy much in the same position he had last seen him. His sister, Maya, nudges his side and motions to the teenager with her eyes. “He’s been here all day right?”

Lance nods distractedly.

“I don't get what he could even be doing,” Maya grunts. “It's not like we have wifi.”

Lance flinches at her words and tries his best to control his expression. “Maybe he's just writing a paper. Who cares.”

Maya gives him an odd look but does not comment further on it. “Whatever, just tell him we're closing up soon.”

He looks at her with pleading eyes and he’s not exactly sure why he's so hesitant to approach the teenager. Perhaps it's because he’s the first customer that has held Lance’s attention for more than a few moments, and not because he wants his number. Though he wouldn't mind that. Lance shakes his head, remembering how infuriating the guy’s attitude is.

Maya does not sympathize with him and simply leaves him alone with the kid alone, in the dimly lit seating area. Lance lets out a quiet groan and heads over to the guy's table.

“Hey,” he starts, intending to inform the guy that he needs to leave soon.

“One second,” he says, cutting Lance off and Lance can only stand there in astonishment because did this guy really just shush him?

“Listen kid,” Lance starts, already fuming but is cut off once again.

“Hold on.” There's an awkward moment of tension that falls between them as Lance tries to hold himself back from attacking his customer, before the boy says evenly, “And I’m not a kid. I'm pretty sure I'm older than you.”

“I'm 17!” Lanc blurts out.

It takes the guy a few moments to reply because he’s typing something that is apparently more important than holding a conversation—though Lance sees it as an argument—with Lance.

He gives one final harsh key click before sliding the computer screen shut. His gaze shifts lazily to settle on Lance’s fuming figure. “I'm 18.”

“Well…” Lance scours his brain for an insult but then remembers the reason he had even approached the asshole. “Well, we’re closing in ten minutes so you need to leave, wifi-stealer.” He decides to lie about their closing time, even though it's on the front window, because he wants the guy out of here as soon as possible.

The boy gives him an amused look as he slip his computer into his bag. Lance can tell he’s just itching to laugh in his face and it only serves to infuriate him further. “That’s fine because I’m leaving now.”

Lance watches as he gets up to leave, glaring, and he's sure if he looked in a mirror he would see steam coming out from his ears. He glances at the table and notices the boy hadn't even touched his chips. “You, didn't even touch the food, old man!”

The boy glances between Lance and the table. “We literally just established that I'm only a year older than you. Which is pretty young for people in my field.”

Lance brows perk. “Field?”

The boy has an expression that reads as ‘I've said too much’ and ignores him to search through his back pocket instead, pulling his phone out. “Is twenty enough?”

Lance’s jaw drops. “What? No, it's like five bucks at most!”

The boy ignores him and taps at his phone. When he’s done he simply slips his bag on and starts heading towards the door.

“Wait!” Lance calls after him. “You didn't even give me cash or a card!”

The boy is already halfway out the door when he pauses, a wide grin on his face. “Check your bank statement.”

Lance has no time to recover, seeing that the boy had already disappeared. He’s moving before he knows it, towards the back office where the computer is. He logs in quickly to his family's bank account and is floored.

There, in their balance, is a new sum of added money, and it's certainly more than what a basket of chips and guac is worth. He is utterly dumbfounded, to the point where he is glued to the office chair for a solid 20 minutes before his mother kicks him out.

When he's falling asleep that night he realizes with regret that he never got the boy’s name. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: all of Lance's siblings are named after my own family relatives bc im not creative with names. if you guys are interested in all of their names and ages i can list them in the notes of the next ch


	2. RunProgram.exe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The infamous wifi-stealer returns, Lance still doesn't know his name and apparently they're on a mission to topple the government?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (if you see any mistake pls point them out)

The weeks passed lazily, seemingly as lethargic as the city goers. The heat only intensified, leaving Lance with a constant urge to crawl into the restaurant’s storage freezer. Business was booming, surprisingly for a small diner with fair at best air conditioning.

With every chime of the front door, his head perked up. But the person he was hoping to see never entered. The customers were fine; he had even chatted up a few girls and gotten their numbers but hadn't put them to much use.

His oldest sister, Kiara, was visiting for the summer break and he was watching her now, applying eyeliner with a delicate hand. Lance slouched into the bar stool and pushed cornflakes around with his spoon.

“Got a date?” He asked in a drawled, sleepy tone.

Kiara’s face contorted with disgust. “No. Remember my friend Colby?”

“The one who puked on the dance floor during your quinceañera?”

Kiara snorted and began applying eyelashes. “No, that was Corey.”

Lance chuckled halfheartedly. “Oh, yeah. What about Colby?”

Kiara snapped her mirror shut and pulled her hair into a quick bun and Lance was amazed at how she could manage to do it flawlessly without looking. “He has an exhibition today and he wants me to meet the curator. You know, put in a good word for me and see if he'll check out my work.”

Lance nodded sleepily. “Yeah, that’d be good.”

Kiara rolled her eyes, smiling and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Tell Ma to call me if she needs anything.”

Lance watched her go and slid out of his chair, discarding his unfinished cereal in the sink. He decided he might as well start prepping the restaurant for opening. It was Saturday, so they opened later in the day and his family tended to sleep in. Lance would have happily joined them, but as of recent his sleep had been out of whack. He wants to blame it on the summer heat, but he knows it has less to do with that and more to do with the occupant of his thoughts. The boy that entered the restaurant a few weeks earlier had certainly left an imprint and all but consumed Lance’s every waking thought. All he knew was that if he saw him again, he couldn't let the guy leave as easily as he had before—at least not until he got some answers.

Lance made his way down the stairs that connected the apartment above to the restaurant below. He started by putting the chairs back into place and restocking the table condiments. He was midway through refilling a salt container when there was a knock on the front glass, causing him to jolt and spill salt over the floor. Cursing, he looked up, wondering why anyone was at a Cuban restaurant at seven am. There was a person standing in the slow drizzling rain, hoodie covering their face.

Grumbling, he walked over and cracked the door open, peering out between the sliver that was between the door and the lock. “Dude, we don't open on Saturdays until noon—”

His eyes locked with the strangers and he felt his words die in the back of his throat. A familiar pair of dark eyes stared at him pensively.

With widened eyes, realization dawned on him. “It's you!” He shouted, pointing an accusing finger at the boy.

The boy simply quirked an eyebrow at him, shoulders slumping slightly. “Can I come in anyway?”

“No,” Lance said impulsively before mulling it over. He had sworn to himself he wouldn't let this guy escape his grasps the next time he saw him, and certainly not because Lance willingly shooed him away over their opening time. “Wait,” Lance added. “It's fine just come inside. It's raining anyway.”

The stranger’s shoulders seemed to fall lax with relief and he waited for Lance to unlock the remaining lock on the door before letting him in. Lance watched, slightly dumbfounded, as the boy sauntered in and walked over to his familiar corner. He turned towards Lance, flicking his hoodie up.

“Do you have a spare rag I can use to dry myself off?”

It took Lance a few moments for the words to register before he stuttered out an unsure, “Uh, yeah.”

He handed him a newly washed rag, thinking the boy would appreciate not having to wipe his face with the dishrag used to clean the tables. The boy the rag through his hair, ringing out the ends that hadn't been covered by his hoodie. Lance tried not to pay much attention to the droplets that coursed a path down the steep slope of the guy’s slim neck.

Lance coughed awkwardly into his fist and quickly recovered. “Care to explain, wifi-stealer?”

The boy paused his movements and raised his brows in question. “Explain?”

Lance huffed in annoyance, irritated that the guy was maintaining his innocence front. “Yes, explain as to how exactly you managed to get into my bank account without any prior information,” he paused to glare at the boy. “You know I could have you arrested for that shit.”

The boy’s eyes glistened dangerously at the mention of police.

“Does it matter?” The boy sighed into a slump on one of the booths, eyes closing as if he was much too tired to have this conversation.

“Um, yeah,” Lance said in exasperation. “Getting that type of information is...illegal! And you paid way too much anyway!”

The boy’s lips quirked but did not quite give into exasperation. “You're complaining about being overpaid?”

Lance groaned angrily. “Yes! 100 is absurd and way too much for chips that you didn't even touch!”

A curious eye cracked open. “100? Huh, I must've added an extra zero.”

Lance felt his blood vessels burst. “You don't even know how much you paid?!”

“Money is a concept created by those who mean to oppress.”

Lance honestly wasn't sure how to respond to that so he simply reached into his back pocket and pulled out the hundred dollar bill he had printed out. He slammed it on the table, successfully grabbing the boy's attention.

The boy looked at the bill with something akin to indifference. “I don't want it.”

Lance crossed his arms, lips pursed. “Well, you're gonna take it because I refuse to accept it.”

The boy shrugged and rolled his neck, wincing. “Your loss.”

Lance huffed in annoyance, glancing away momentarily to gather himself. “You still haven't told me how you did it.”

The boy’s lips curled and his eyes slit open to peer at him playfully. “It wasn't that difficult. Bank accounts are basic.”

Lance blinked at him dumbfounded. “You...hacked into my family's bank information?”

The boy remained quiet under his accusations.

“You're a hacker?” Lance asked with mild disgust.

The boy frowned. “I prefer being referred to as someone who engages in unauthorized access to computers and corporations in order to receive, destroy, or change otherwise hidden information, whose end results may or may not be for my own or for the general public’s benefit.”

“Oh, god,” Lance whispered. “You have got to be shitting me.” Lance interrupts the other boy before he can reply. “You're seriously telling me you're a hacker.”

“Yes.”

“You hack into things?”

“Networks, yes.”

“You were using my internet to bring down corporations and shit, but you couldn't buy an actual meal?”

“I—what?” The boy stops at this, apparently not expecting that particular complaint. “Uhh…”

“Dude, if you're gonna saunter in here and steal my wifi on your stupid mission to topple the government then you at least have to buy the food!”

The boy’s lips quirked comically as if he couldn't exactly digest the turn of events. Lance couldn't say confidently he did either.

“Okay…” He drawled thoughtfully, legs kicking out into a comfortable position. “So, what do you recommend then chef?”

Lance felt his lips break into a satisfied grin. “Well, usually I would suggest Ropa Vieja, but it's breakfast time so there are more appropriate dishes.”

The boy hummed in acknowledgment. “Just make whatever you like.”

“Whatever I like?” Lance spluttered.

The boy eyed him evenly and nodded lazily.

“I, uh, okay,” he said intelligently. “I'll get to that.”

Stumbling over his own two feet, he made his way into the back kitchen, turning on the lights and watching it hum alive. He began grabbing ingredients at random, things he had remember seeing his mother use when she cooked for the family. He was already caramelizing plantains when he fully realized what he was doing. What am I doing? I never cook for customers, he thought to himself.

Staring down at the sizzling skillet, he decided he might as well finish the dish, especially since he had already told the guy he would. When he finished plating the food, he took a moment to preen at his work.

The boy was already on his computer, his concentration completely entrapped by the digital screen, when Lance put down his plate of food.

The boy jolted at the sound of the plate being placed in front of him. Setting his computer aside, he picked up a fork and looked at the food with starved eyes. “It looks good. What is it?”

Lance smirked proudly. “It's hash made out of plantains and pork. My mom used to make it when I was little whenever I had a big test that day.”

The boy’s eyes glazed over slightly at the explanation and he quickly began devouring the food.

Lance eyed him curiously. “Damn, when's the last time you ate?”

The boy paused, as if the question caught him off guard. “Uh, I can't really remember. Maybe yesterday morning.”

He sounded unsure of his own answer and the insinuation made Lance’s stomach knot uncomfortably. To him, there was nothing worse than hunger. And not the type of hunger when you skipped lunch. No, he was well acquainted with the different sort. The type that left you hallowed, acid churning, the hunger gnawing away at your insides.

After his father had left, money was stretched thin, and there were times, as one of the oldest, when he would split his portions amongst the younger siblings. When they would offer food back, he would smile and shake his head telling them that seeing them eat was enough to fill his belly for as many days to come as need be.

Lance knew this probably wasn't the boy’s case, considering he had casually dropped three digits into Lance’s bank account without batting an eye. For all he knew, the guy simply had a bad sense of time and had simply been busy. Still, it made him uneasy.

“Uh,” Lance began, not knowing exactly where he was going with this. “If you ever need food, you can come here. I mean you've already made it clear that you have no respect for our hours, so whenever…” He trailed off hoping the offer was self explanatory.

The boy seemed shocked silent but he quickly gathered himself, face dusted with color. “Oh, thank you.” Lance noticed how his eyes fell to the ground as he spoke. “That's very…nice. Thank you.”

Lance felt his body flush at the words and he wasn't sure why. “Don't sweat it, man.”

The boy smiled to himself, and it felt unbearably warm. Lance forced himself to look away, feeling like he stumbled upon something raw and private.

Lance went back to preparing the restaurant, trying his best to pretend he was alone. He was just about finished when he heard the boy clear his throat.

“I’m, uh, done eating. It was really good, thanks.”

Lance glanced down at the almost licked-clean plate and smiled. The smile quickly broke when the boy spoke up again.

“I prepaid some money into your account. And I did it in yours specifically, so you won't have to worry about anyone asking where it's from.”

“What?” Lance said, absolutely dumbfounded. “Why?!”

The boy’s eyes narrowed in defense. “Well, I had to pay somehow, and besides you practically sheltered me.”

Lance walked around, forcing the boy’s computer screen towards him. He squints at the screen, which has been navigated through to a page Lance hadn’t checked before, and right below _My Account_ is the line _Current Balance_ , with a large digit beside it that nearly sends him into cardiac arrest.

The longer he stares at the number, the less angry he gets. Lance stares at him wondrously. “How do you even get this money? Don't tell me it's yours?”

“No,” the boy says simply. “I fabricated the number.”

“You-You fabricated…”

He nods, and Lance can feel an oncoming migraine knocking on his skull.

“This isn’t legal,” Lance states obviously.

“I know.”

“None of the things you do are legal, are they?”

“Not particularly, no.”

The boy has a weird look on his face, like he's hoping he can eat his words back up. His gaze catches Lance’s and holds it cautiously, and they're intently daring him to call the cops. It’s hilarious because despite his artificial detachment and nonchalant words, Lance can see the fidget of his fingers, the twitch of his nose, and the darting of his pupils. It’s subtle but it says “Please” and Lance can’t help but sigh.

“Oh, God, you're gonna kill me,” Lance whines dramatically. “Or worse, get me arrested.”

The boy frowns at this. “No, I won't”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I have confidence in my work and they've never caught me before so they certainly won't catch us now,” he supplies.

Lance isn't sure how he feels about the way the boy says us and exactly what that concludes now.

Laughter bubbles at his lips, and he throws his head back in disbelief. “Oh, man, Hunk is not going to believe this.”

The boy’s eyes narrow into slits. “Hunk?”

Lance feels slightly unnerved by the glare. “Hunk’s my best friend.”

“Well, there's nothing to believe because you won't be telling him anything,” he warns threateningly.

Lance scoffs. “So you're okay with throwing money willy-nilly and telling me, a complete stranger by the way, but I can't wait tell my friend about you?”

“Well, I know you. I know where you live and what you do and I doubt you'd sell me out,” the guy counters. “I don't know this guy. His name doesn't even sound trustworthy.”

Lance inhales with offense. “It's not like anyone would believe me anyway.”

The boy seems pleased by this statement.

Somewhere along their argument Lance had ended up sitting across from him, pushed back slightly from the table as to keep distance.

Lance gazed at him out of the corner of his eye. He hadn't noticed it when he first saw the boy again, but he looked like crap. He almost voiced this, but held his tongue back knowing the boy wouldn't take it well. His hair was messier than before and a little greasy, like it hadn't been washed in a few days. The area under his eyes was concerningly dark and sunken, the corners of his sclera pink and irritated. His chest tightened in discomfort and he tried to change his thought path.

“You know,” he started. “I have to open up shop in an hour or two.”

The boy blinked up at him expectantly. “Do you want me to leave?”

Lance's eyes widened comically. “N-No!”

The other boy looked relieved at this.

“You can stay here as long as you want, I guess.” Lance felt like he was digging himself into an increasingly larger hole. “Just, uh, keep the government toppling to a minimum.”

The guy rolled his eyes at this. “I can't promise anything.”

“You still haven't told me your name.”

There was a long pause.

“That is not public information.”

Lance scoffed. “That’s not fair you know my name.”

The other boy furrowed his brow. “Do I?”

Lance's face fell. “Wait, are you shitting me?”

“Maybe…” Lance watched as the boy’s faux expression morphed into mischievous smile. “Lance,” he added with emphasis.

Lance felt a surge of something akin to pride. The boy had remembered his name. “I'll just call you…” He thought carefully, his eyes glancing at the boy’s hair. “Mullet.”

The boy gave him an offended look. “Mullet?”

“Yeah, Mullet. Its that or Red.”

He regarded him warily. “Why Red?”

“Well, you were wearing a lot of red the other day and your computer is red, which I have to say is the oddest color choice for a laptop.”

The boy scowled, arms crossing. “Don't talk about her like that.”

Lance paused. “Her? Oh my God, did you name your laptop?”

“Maybe…”

Lance snorted. “Gee, what's it's name?”

“...”

“Red…”

Lance gave him a dead look. “You did not.”

His silence was enough answer for Lance. “Oh God, you actually named your computer Red.”

The boy rolled his eyes at this, clearly unamused. “Don't you have to do stuff to get ready?”

Lance got up laughing to himself and gave the boy a smirk. “Don't think you're getting out of this, _Mullet_.”

The boy groaned.

\--

Mullet, had kept to himself for the most part. When the restaurant opened Lance was too busy to be nosy and see what exactly the boy was doing.

His family had asked about the stranger initially when they came downstairs, seeing that they still had ten minutes until opening. Lance had struggled with this, simply saying he was just someone he knew and tried to change the topic. Yara had given him an odd look but didn't comment.

Before he knew it, it was three in the afternoon, their closing time for the weekends and everyone had been ushered out. His mother had nagged him into getting rid of Mullet too and not wanting to further annoy her he stumbled over to the boy's corner.

Mullet-boy looked up at him in question, his fingers ceasing their attack on the keyboard.

“Uh, we're only open for lunch hours today.”

Mullet quickly began gathering his things, assuming he was being kicked out.

“Oh! You don't have to go,” Lance blurted, immediately regretting it because yes, the boy did have to leave, that's why he came over in the first place.

Said wifi-steamer halts, his hands on the straps of his bag. “You sure?”

“Uh,” Lance’s gaze darted to the kitchen where his family was. “Yeah, yeah. It's fine. Just, um, stay here.”

He made his way to the back without catching the boy’s confused expression. When he entered the kitchen his family looked up at him expectantly. “Um, my, uh, friend,” he practically choked on the word. “He's gonna stay for a bit, if that's okay.”

Maya smirked at him playfully. “Lance has a playdate,” she said, emphasizing the last part of the word.

His mother ignored this and smiled warmly at him. “Why don't you invite him upstairs, mijo?”

“No!” He blurted. “That's okay. I wouldn’t want to bother everyone.”

Maya placed her hand on his shoulder. “Nonsense! I think that sounds like a wonderful idea, Mamá. We were leaving to the store anyway.”

The twins looked up at this. “We are?” They asked in unison.

“Yes!”

His mother nodded at her daughter. “We do need a few things actually.”

And before Lance could come up with an excuse, they were already leaving out the back.

He glared daggers at his sister. She was the closest in age to him, only ten months apart and she made it her job to annoy the shit out of him. “Why did you do that?!”

She smiled mischievously. “Oh, please. You should be thanking me. I see the way you look at him.”

“W-What?” He spluttered.

“You're always making gross eyes at him and don't deny your moping the last few weeks.”

“That–that wasn't because of him!” He yelled in defense.

“Sure it wasn't.”

“And besides I’m—”

Maya cut him off before he could finish his sentence. “I swear to God, Lance. If you start with this no homo shit.”

His face broke into a warm flush.

She patted him on the shoulder, giving him a pitying look. “Go get him, cowboy.”

He practically threw her out the door for that.

When he had schooled his face and was sure his cheeks had lost their color, he went back into the restaurant.

Mullet was still standing now, his bag slung over his shoulder and looking increasingly uncomfortable.

Lance blinked at him. “Are you leaving?”

“I heard you arguing with someone,” he explained. “I'll go if it's that much trouble.”

Lance shook his head violently. “No, it's no trouble at all. My sister was just being annoying, I swear.”

The boy looked visibly reassured by this.

“Actually,” Lance breathed out. He mustered all the confidence he could and said, “I was going to ask if you want some coffee?”

“Coffee?”

“Y-Yeah.” Lance could feel his face warming, and he cursed himself for being so openly expressive. “I could, um, make some. Or we could get some? I don't know if you're picky or something…”

There was a painfully long stretch of silence and Lance was about to retract his offer, completely humiliated.

“I'm actually more of a tea person,” the boy spoke softly.

Lance felt his face give into a smile, his chest filled with warmth, and he thinks that while technology has suddenly taken over his life, this boy will definitely be the end of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know its a lil slow but i promise the next ch will feature some of the palidins


End file.
